


Red is My Heart

by WednesdaysDaughter



Series: Borrowed Words [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 14:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdaysDaughter/pseuds/WednesdaysDaughter
Summary: After settling in she and the Doctor talked well into the night about the possibility of alien involvement in the latest case.“I didn’t pick up any unusual readings on the body – could just been a simple murder Rose: Human vs. Human.”“No murder is simple Doctor,” Rose chided and the Doctor nodded quickly in agreement, “Quite right, but you knew what I meant.”





	Red is My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Because "I'd Pluck A Fair Rose" is perfect for these two and I can do what I want. Purely self-indulgent nonsense to make myself feel better about my own lack of prospects. What a tender sucker I am.

“Come now my dear, surely you would not deny us the pleasure of your lovely voice.”

Rose vowed then and there to conspire with the TARDIS and hide every jar of jam from the Doctor when she saw amusement flash across his face before he could hide it behind his wine glass. Her face warm, Rose attempted a polite smile coupled with what she hoped came off as a modest refusal. She did not want to cause offense.

Perhaps she was too convincing because the rest of the room chuckled and urged to her reconsider.

“You simply must,” Dorothy, affectionately known as Dot to her friends, insisted with her arm gripping Rose’s elbow firmly. “You were humming such a charming tune this morning at breakfast.”

A warm smile bloomed across Rose's lips at the wide-eyed wonder in Dot’s eyes. The young lady had quickly attached herself to Rose when she and the Doctor arrived three days ago. After staring into the hopeless absence of light on a crumbling rock, Rose had asked for an earthbound adventure. Eager to deliver, the Doctor whirled around the console, nearly taking a tumble in his haste to give her what she wanted. Rose’s laughter echoed throughout the deepest depths of the wardrobe until it stilled in her throat at the sight of the thriving providence of Melbourne.

"Ah yes," the Doctor had grinned, "nothing quite like the antipodes after the Great War. We're sure to find some wholesome excitement Rose!" 

Unfortunately the "wholesome excitement" came in the form of a dead body in the alley where the TARDIS had landed. With the quick flick of the psychic paper, Dr. John Smith and his wife Rose Smith were escorted to the morgue where the Doctor offered his assistance to the coroner.

The Constable kept Rose company in the lobby and they traded small talk until Rose let it slip they were new in town without designs on a hotel.

“Ah, the honeymoon,” Constable Collins smiled fondly lost in the memories of his own vows, “it can leave one scatterbrained.”

“We were too excited to travel it seems,” Rose agreed. “Are there any places you’d recommend?”

“Of course, you can stay with me and my wife Dottie. She’d love to hear about your travels and if your husband is to aid in the investigation it’d be best if he stayed close.”

“Well that’s awfully kind of you Constable, we’d be delighted!” the Doctor replied, coming around to put a hand on Rose’s back.

“Yes,” Rose agreed relaxing into his touch, “thank you very much Constable.”

“Please, call me Hugh.”

That night found them guests in the Collins’ household. Rose spent the better part of dinner regaling Dorothy, “Please, call me Dot,” with stories carefully crafted so as to be truthful, but much less fanciful than reality. Dot had her own stories to tell and Rose was captivated with her recollections of murders most foul. After settling in she and the Doctor talked well into the night about the possibility of alien involvement in the latest case.

“I didn’t pick up any unusual readings on the body – could just been a simple murder Rose: Human vs. Human.”

“No murder is simple Doctor,” Rose chided and the Doctor nodded quickly in agreement, “Quite right, but you knew what I meant.”

Humming to herself, Rose sent a mental ‘thank you’ to the TARDIS who’d left two suitcases by the door before they’d left. Clearly she knew something was afoot and wanted her residents to be prepared. Rose eventually fell asleep, hands curled under her chin so as to resist the temptation to cling to the Doctor’s shirt. Morning she awoke flush against him, his nose buried in her hair and arm thrown snugly over her right hip. He positioned himself closest to the door in case of trouble and Rose felt the bubble of overwhelming fondness fill her bones until she feared she might float into the sky and never return.

Brought back to the present by Dot’s puppy dog eyes, Rose sighed in defeat and settled herself next to the piano. Ignoring the eyes on her, Rose smoothed her hand down her blue cotton tea dress until her mind cleared and the words came without pause.

“ _I’d pluck a fair rose for my love._

_I’d pluck a red rose blowing._

_Love’s in my heart, I’m tryin’ so to prove_

_What your heart’s knowin’_.”

Her voice hangs in the air like smoke in a bar, never wavering though the weight of the Doctor’s stare plays havoc with her heart. Dot rests her head on Hugh’s chest and it pinches painfully at the longing ever-present in Rose when he leans down to kiss her hair. Rose’s fingers itch to clutch the soft fabric at her thighs until it tears beneath them, but she forges on as if it were a normal Wednesday.

“ _I’d pluck a finger on a thorn_

_I’d pluck a finger bleeding_

_Red is my heart, all wounded and forlorn_

_And your heart needin’._ ”

Rose’s pulse pounds in her ears nearly drowning her words in anxiety. The urge to run is palpable and when she chances a glance at the Doctor, leaning against the fireplace, she’s surprised he hasn’t vibrated out of his skin. His eyes, so old and wise, rest on her shoulders like a weighted blanket: Bringing both comfort and confinement. She chose this song for a reason; even he cannot deny its meaning.

“ _I’d hold a finger to my tongue_

_I’d hold a finger waitin’_

_My heart is sore until it’s joined in song_

_With your heart matin’_.”

The shrill ringing of the hallway phone breaks the spell, though the applause is quick and Rose bows her head to hide the bright tint on her cheeks. Dot encases her hands and dispels Rose’s embarrassment with gentle praise.

“You sing beautify Rose, the church would do well with someone like you leading Sunday choir.”

“Not to mention the nightclubs Miss,” Burt Johnson raises his glass in toast turning to his partner Cec who readily agrees.

“You’d put Miss Jodi to shame with those pipes.”

Rose cannot help the cheerful giggle resulting from their words, internally rolling her eyes when she catches sight of the glare the Doctor shoots the cabbies.

“As much as I hate to dispel the festivities there’s been another murder Constable,” Mr. Butler peaks his head into the parlor and the mood sobers abruptly. Hugh presses a tender kiss to Dot’s cheek motioning for the Doctor to follow. Not one to be outdone, the Doctor takes Rose’s hand in his leisurely squeezing it as he leans in to brush his lips just beneath her left eye that flutters in response – eyelashes kissing back softly.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he promises.

Rose swallows her protests and nods once, blood pounding a primal rhythm beneath her flushed skin. Obviously aware of the predicament his caress has stirred in her, the Doctor’s lips quirk in delight and he is swift with his assurances when Rose’s eyes narrow.

“You never cease to amaze me Mrs. Smith.”

With that, he turns and bids Dot a quick farewell before following her husband out the door.

“Shall I prepare some tea?” Mr. Butler inquires and Rose does not hear Dot's reply, too busy trying to quiet her frazzled brain.

Dot leads Rose into the kitchen where Jane and Paddy retired in hopes of helping themselves to some chocolate cake. They respectfully demand more stories from Rose and she is grateful for the distraction, promising to give if one is returned. Eventually the kitchen fills with laughter after Burt and Cec join in – Rose unable to hide her snickers when Lady Prudence strikes Burt with her purse at his racy recollection of local gossip.

Rose eventually retires at half-past nine, taking a few moments to herself in a hot bath wherein Dot provided lavender bath salts to ease her nerves.

“It took me a long time to adjust too,” Dot confesses kneeling on the floor next to the tub to check the temperature, “not to being married I mean, but…”

“The murders,” Rose surmises and Dot nods.

“I worked for a lady detective and she helped me become brave.”

“That’s what John did for me,” Rose admits reveling in the feel of the bathrobe against her chilled skin.

“He made me realize I had the ability to change things. That I could stand up for what was right even if others turned a blind eye.”

Dot’s smile is knowing and it eases the tension Rose had been carrying since Lady Prudence asked her to sing. She loses track of time, soaking in the hot water until it cools. A knock pulls her from ancient Rome and the Doctor’s voice makes her sit up.

“We caught the culprit: Surprisingly a clandestine lover’s quarrel turned sour.” She can picture the roll of his eyes, “I’ll fill you in on the details if you’re not too tired.”

“Just give me a mo – be right out.”

His knuckles brush against the wood of the door once more and Rose listens as his steps fade away.

She leaves the pins in her hair and wraps herself in green silk, making sure the sash is secure so as not to flash any more skin than appropriate. Rose peaks her head out in time to see Dot with a tray, “Figured you’d like a nice cuppa before bed. There are some sandwiches for John too. Hugh rarely remembers to eat if called away so late.”

Rose’s gratitude is waved away and the Doctor is quick to relieve Dot of her burden when he opens the door after hearing Rose’s voice.

“You’re too kind Mrs. Collins.”

“Not at all, Hugh tells me you found the final piece of the puzzle. The murderer might have gotten away if not for your assistance.”

“That’s my Doctor,” Rose beams before snagging a cookie from the tray, “always gets his man.”

Dot laughs at the way he fidgets at their praise and bids them goodnight, but not before securing their promise to stay long enough for a hearty breakfast.

“Can’t travel on an empty stomach!”

They quickly agree and once the door latches shut, Rose settles on the bed aware of the way the wet silk clings to her curves. Clearing his throat, the Doctor takes a gulp of tea and dives in – sparing a quick glance at her bare legs before spinning on his heals to pace the bedroom.

“For all we see, it’s almost easy to forget the horrors us apes inflict on each other,” Rose muses afterwards.

Hearing the exhaustion in her voice, the Doctor stills long enough to take her hand in his allowing his thumb to trace circles along her knuckles that were still sore from their previous adventure. It’s comforting and Rose lets herself lean forward until her head’s resting just below his hearts. Their uptick, most likely due to the shifting material at her collarbone, makes her bite her bottom lip to suppress an amused exhale.

“It’s not all horror Rose,” he whispers and Rose hums in agreement finding in her a vein of courage strong enough to bring their joined hands to her lips where she kisses his knuckles tenderly.

His sharp inhale sets fire to her blood, but she chooses to ignore it in favor of readying herself for bed. She’s willingly taken a step closer to the edge of a knife they’ve balance so carelessly on since the day he took her hand. Seemingly knocked speechless, the Doctor leaves to return the tray to the kitchen but it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to escape.

Checking her suitcase, Rose finds a battered copy of sonnets and chuckles at the cheek of the TARDIS. It’s nice to know she’s got someone in her corner fighting the good fight against time itself. Her eyes drink in the words once whispered into her neck at the height of the Doctor’s ill-timed poisoning and Rose shivers beneath the heavy quilt. Seconds pass into minutes and she’s halfway done with the book when he finally returns.

The amusement in his eyes once he realized what she was reading grew until it was a tangible presence locked between their battling wills. She refused to hide between the weathered pages, meeting him head on until he sauntered across the room to pull the book from her hands. Placing it on the bedside table, the Doctor returned to her side and proceeded to disrobe to a respectable degree – tie, shoes, and jacket lain gently across his suitcase.

She waits for him to speak, eyes drawn to the way their fake rings shine under the soft light of a lotus flower lamp Rose would find in her room when they return to the TARDIS. Satisfied with his state of undress, the Doctor turns and wraps an arm around Rose’s shoulders, pulling her against his chest until she melts into his embrace.

“Sing to me?”

He feels her smile against the thin fabric of his shirt and her voice lulls him into a deep slumber. There, his dreams inspire words far greater than any one poet could piece together in admission of feelings he would no longer run from. Morning comes and the Doctor lies content to run deft fingers through Rose's hair, the action pulling appreciative murmurs from sleep-addled lips. He hushes her, willing her to slumber a while longer before the scent of breakfast can waft upstairs. The Doctor basks in the sun's playful rays peaking behind the lace curtains and begins to compose a declaration that would make the greatest authors curse with crafted jealousy.

He just needed more time.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you familiar with Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, I set this in a time after Phyrne has left for England and Jack has followed. I took two of my favorite things and combined them because I can. This is a start of a series where other songs/poems/quotes are used to say what Rose and the Doctor can't/won't. 
> 
> I've already planned out a fic for the poisoned!Doctor confesses his love for Rose with Shakespeare sonnets so there's that.


End file.
